Chapter Eighteen.
Meeting a Volcano—and a Placid Lake.
Geoffrey came swinging along the path, with his head thrown back and his chest forward, smiling at something that crossed his mind, when he stopped short, for Amos Pengelly suddenly stood in his way.
“Ah, Pengelly,” he said, heartily, “how are you, my lad?” and he stretched out his hand.
To his astonishment, the miner struck it savagely aside, closed with him, caught him by arm and waistband, and by a clever Cornish wrestling trick, and the exercise of his iron muscles, literally lifted him from the ground.
Geoffrey was powerful, and full of youth and vigour, but his antagonist’s dwarfish legs gave him another advantage, and he could have thrown the young man heavily to the ground, but in the very act of dashing him upon the rocks he relented, and let him recover himself.
“Have you gone mad, Pengelly?” cried Geoffrey, warmly. “Hang it, man, if you don’t control that confounded temper of yours you’ll be on your trial some day for murder.”
“Maybe it’ll be yours,” cried Amos, fiercely. “What have I done to you that you should serve me in this way?”
“I? Serve you?” cried Geoffrey, in astonishment, for he had resumed his unruffled manner. “What’s the matter, Amos?”